The Righteous Whisper of Allsaints (The White Blood Chronicles Book 2)

by Mark G Heath

  “ The Crown of Mainvere, Manfur be praised,” said Novac, his eyes wide in appreciation as he regarded the precious artefact. He reached out a gloved finger and ran it around the edge of one of the emeralds mouthing something silently, as if he was reading the immaculate inscriptions that surrounded the gemstone. Nobody spoke, everyone in the room in awe of the beauty of the crown and also what it signified. Novac replaced the crown in the box and looked to Campion.

  “ You have done well Priest Campion in locating the crown, but, alas, not well enough. I see that the emeralds still remain set in the crown. It is evident, therefore, that the essence of each gem has not been extracted.”

  “ Yes your eminence, I concluded that you would wish to see the crown in its composite state before the emeralds are removed and the essence obtained.”

  “ Yes, it is truly a magnificent creation and you did right to allow me to look upon its beauty before it is dismantled, but I hope this will not unduly delay our grand design?”

  “ Our gem invoker is patient in his readiness, the extraction can commence forthwith,” assured Campion.

  “ Good.” Novac reached for his goblet and drank. Tsangarides moved away from the fire and sat in the chair alongside Campion.

  “ Do you have the requisite white blood that is to be combined with the essence from the gems?” asked Novac.

  “ The white blood is being extracted as we speak. Mistress Thorne has that matter in hand. The white blood will be ready as required.”

  “ When?” asked Novac.

  “ In a day or so, I shall attend on Mistress Thorne for the exact position tomorrow.”

  Novac stared at Campion.

  “ You shall attend on her tonight,” declared the Arch Priest.

  “ As you direct, your eminence,” said Campion with a bow of his head.

  “ And the Elixir of Calling it is ready?”

  Campion glanced uneasily at Strivelyn who was stood to one side, still holding the jug of wine.

  “ No, your eminence, I am afraid it is not.”

  “ It is not ready?”

  “ No, your eminence,” repeated Campion his gaze lowered to the floor. From the corner of his eye he noticed Tsangarides hands clenching the sides of the chair.

  “ Priest Campion, you are charged with progressing the grand design within Aftlain. One fundamental part of that is the creation of an Elixir of Calling. Yet, I and Underpriest Tsangarides travel all this way, in expectation of a state of readiness, so we may execute our part, only to find that matters are not ready, in fact, they seem far from ready,” said Novac, his voice steadily rising as he fought to contain his anger.

  Campion said nothing, his eyes fixed on the stone floor of the study.

  “ I must tell you that reports have reached me that you appear to be distracted by the lure of womanly flesh.”

  Campion looked up at the Arch Priest, his lips forming a protest.

  “ No, Priest Campion, we are well aware that you have too oft been engaged in the pleasures of women, rather than applying yourself to ensuring that the Elixir is prepared.”

  “ The preparation of the Elixir of Calling is the task of the alchemist, Grimoult.”

  “ Yet it is your responsibility to oversee his work, is it not?” fumed Novac.

  “ I attend on the old man each and every day urging him to complete the Elixir, but I am fed a daily diet of delay and excuse.”

  “ So the alchemist does not work hard enough?”

  Campion looked at Strivelyn.

  “ Please understand your eminence, I have impressed upon Grimoult the absolute importance of creating the Elixir and also the need to do so with due expedience, but it seems that he moves at his own pace,” explained Campion.

  “ You might have been more persuasive with him, no, rather than persuading the harlots of this village to join you in congress?” snapped Novac.

  “ Perhaps, if your eminence would indulge me, I can attend on the alchemist and bring pressure to bear so there is no further delay?”

  “ No. You have had your opportunity. Where is this alchemist?”

  “ Back in the village, your eminence, on the southern side,” answered Strivelyn.

  “ Sexton Strivelyn, you shall accompany Underpriest Tsangarides and bring the alchemist before me.”

  “ He won’t leave his house,” interjected Campion.

  “ Is that so?” said Novac.

  “ Juran, take Tuelsin and Kassine with you and bring this alchemist here without delay.”

  “ Yes your eminence,” replied Tsangarides. He rose and indicated for Strivelyn to follow him as the two men left the study.

  “ We shall soon have this alchemist within our gift,” declared Novac as he leant forward and touched the crown again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lancaster stepped into the square, the cold air a stark contrast to the heat of the inn. He tugged his heavy cloak around himself, the snow settling on the dark blue cloth. Opposite him, across the square, he recognised the tall figure of Campion walking ahead of a small group. Two smaller figures trotted behind the priest, carrying lanterns on poles, the lanterns swaying wildly as their carriers tried to keep pace with the long strides of the holy men. Behind the lantern bearers came four hooded figures. He could tell by their gait that they were female and he watched the group process past the well and then stop at the edge of the road that arrived at the village. The collection of Campion and his followers moved into some kind of formation and then remained still. Lancaster watched for a few moments until the cold nipping at his ears and nose became too great and he set off towards the east of the village. His booted feet kicked up the snow which had begun to settle on the cobbles, the white powder dusting as he strode through it. Nobody else occupied the eastern half of the square as he drew level with Captain Reznik’s residence and made his way along the road, which led to Tallow Bridge.

  Lancaster became aware of a fluttering sound and looked to his right. A devilkin hung in the air, snowflakes floating past it, as it returned Lancaster’s gaze.

  “ Out for an evening stroll are we adulterer?” mocked the flying creature. Lancaster shook his head, pointed his chin down and pressed onwards.

  “ Who are you going to have tonight then? You just cannot keep it in your pants can you?” continued the creature. It flew over Lancaster’s head and hovered by his left ear.

  “ Hmm, maybe he fancies the miller’s wife to warm his bed, no?”

  Lancaster let out a short laugh. He reached the junction with the road down to the mill house, but continued onwards.

  “ No, its not the miller’s wife tonight, my, she will be disappointed,” said the devilkin.

  “ Who could it be? I can tell you who it won’t be though, it won’t be his wife. No, it won’t be anything as conventional as that. Too scared is this libertine, to go near her,” chided the winged creature.

  Lancaster grabbed a dagger from his belt and swiped at the creature, the blade arcing through the air. The devilkin easily dodged the blow.

  “ Temper, temper, philanderer,” came the scornful cry. Lancaster slashed at his tormentor again but the creature was too fast for him, flitting to one side and then another, as Lancaster hacked the air. Lancaster lowered the dagger, glaring at the devilkin as it hung in the air in front of him. He returned the weapon to its sheath and crossed the road.

  “Aha, he is going for looks this night. Yes she is very pretty,” cried the devilkin as it noticed that Lancaster was making for the apothecary.

  “ Shall I return to the inn and let your wife know you will be back in the morning? Shall I, lecher?” offered the devilkin.

  Irritated, Lancaster marched up the wooden steps to the front door of the apothecary. The devilkin continued to flutter behind him, berating him and casting insults at him. Lancaster knocked firmly on the door. All was dark beyond the door of the apothecary but then an orange light flared as a curtain was smartly pulled aside.

  “ Who is it?” a
sked the rustling voice of Thorne.

  “ It is Cyon, Alyssia, let me in please.”

  Thorne crossed into the formal part of the apothecary, illuminated by the firelight behind her. She lifted the counter and pushed the half-door open, stepping towards the front door. She peered through the glass panes in the door and once satisfied that her visitor was Lancaster, drew back bolts at the bottom and top of the door, before unlocking it and pulling the door towards her.

  “ My thanks,” said Lancaster entering the apothecary the instant the door was opened.

  “ How many times will he be having you tonight eh scarlet woman?” shrieked the devilkin.

  “ Ah, you have company,” remarked Alyssia as the devilkin flew into view.

  “ Be gone irritant!” she shouted at the creature.

  “ No need to be so rude, in a rush to get into bed with the adulterer are we?”

  “ Away or I will make you drink one of my tinctures,” threatened Thorne. The devilkin fell silent and alighted on the rail that ran along the front of the apothecary’s porch. It turned its head to look out into the road as the sound of hooves filled the air. Lancaster turned back to the road and Alyssia peered around the well-framed man. Three horse-driven carriages passed, each with a black-clad driver sat atop the carriage. Their passing a blur of yellow lantern light, shining polished black wood amidst the cacophony of whinnying and wheels clattering against the cobbles. The devilkin, no longer interested in Lancaster and Thorne, flew upwards, into the snow-filled sky and followed the carriages to the bridge.

  “ They are a bloody plague,” commented Lancaster as he dusted the snow from his shoulders.

  “ Best ignored, although I admit, they do find a way of getting under your skin,” said Alyssia.

  “ Please, come through.” She indicated for Lancaster to head into the back room, as she secured the front door, followed him and lowered the counter once more. Lancaster walked into the back room, glad of the warmth that filled the cosy room.

  “ Do sit down,” said Alyssia. Lancaster removed his cloak and draped it over the back of a chair before settling into it, the heat of the fire nearby washing pleasantly over him. Alyssia sat opposite him, her chair further from the fire, the dancing firelight playing across her delicate features.

  “ Surprised to find you venturing out into a frozen evening,” said Alyssia. “ I should have thought you would be on a second bottle by now and gorging on one of Alyce’s roasted ducks?”

  “ Believe me, I would sooner be doing that than heading outside, delightful as your company is,” said Lancaster with a smile. Thorne brushed her hands along the red and yellow petals that formed her ‘dress’, the soft foliage rippled under her touch. Lancaster could not help but wonder what lay under the canopy of flowers and stared at the collection of scarlet and ochre.

  “ What can I help you with?” asked Alyssia.

  “ Ah yes.” Lancaster broke his gaze and looked up to Alyssia’s round, inviting eyes.

  “ I need another vial of white blood. Now.”

  Alyssia bit her bottom lip, the two white teeth stark against the berry red of her lip.

  “ I am afraid I have none left.”

  “ You must have.”

  “ No, I am sorry, it is all gone.”

  “ I don’t believe you, “ said Lancaster. He began looking about the room, searching for a bottle of the fabulous white liquid sat on one of the many shelves in the room.

  “ Well, I am sorry you don’t believe me,” answered Alyssia indignantly, “ but that is the fact of the matter.”

  “ Come now, I know you. You are not going to run out of it, you will always ensure you have a supply, it is worth too much to you.”

  “ Cyon, if I had some, I would tell you.”

  “ How much do you want? A thousand gold marks?” Lancaster tapped his pouch. “ Fifteen hundred then?” Alyssia’s eyes widened at the mention of such sums.

  “ You are desperate aren’t you?” remarked Alyssia frowning.

  “ You might say that.”

  “ Well I cannot help you, not right now. But if you are willing to pay that price, give me a couple of days.”

  “ A couple?” groaned Lancaster.

  “ Alright, a day and I should be able to help you.”

  “ A day?”

  “ A day. Two thousand gold marks.”

  “ Done. I bet you have some really and it is earmarked for someone else and you are going to fob them off because I am paying you more, aren’t you, you devious woman.”

  “ No, not at all,” said Alyssia.

  “ Then where are you going to get it from so soon? You do know that Thaindire is under the spell of Kathryn.”

  “ Yes I do, Grimoult was only complaining about that, this morning.”

  “ Grimoult? What’s it got to do with him? That fool would probably feed it to those stupid little men he fusses over, like cream to cats.”

  “ Oh you know Ilberd, he likes to have a moan,” said Alyssia realising she had said too much by referring to Grimoult having an interest in Thaindire.

  “ I don’t really know him at all. Anyway, back to the point, where are you going to get the white blood from?”

  “ Leave that with me,” smiled Alyssia.

  “ Like that is it?”

  “ Yes.”

  “ Very well.” Lancaster rose and reached for his cloak.

  “ One day,” he repeated and Alyssia nodded.

  “ A short visit,” she commented.

  “ There is a table with a plate with a duck waiting for me.” Lancaster placed the heavy cloak about his shoulders and pushed the curtain aside. Alyssia followed him into the shop front, the various scents from her wares prominent.

  “ Oh as I am here, do you have some Carpathia, I may as well stock up,” asked Lancaster.

  “ Mmm, yes, just a moment,” she replied. She clicked her thumb and middle finger together and a bright white orb of light flared up on the end of her middle finger. She held it up, illuminating the well-packed shelves.

  “By Traen, what’s that,” remarked Lancaster. He pointed past Thorne towards a creature that was curled up towards the far end of the counter. It was a dull red in colour and about the size of a twelve-year old child. Two almond-shaped yellow eyes blinked in the glare of Thorne’s orb.

  “Hello,” said Thorne soothingly.

  “What is it? How did it get in here?” asked Lancaster, “ move back, I will deal with it,” he announced pulling one of his daggers free.

  “Hush Cyon, you will frighten it,” said Thorne as she lowered herself. The creature stared at her and then held out a hand. In it was a small round bottle containing a white liquid.

  “So that’s where you are getting it from is it?” declared Lancaster and he set off after the herbalist.

  “Cyon, will you shut up, it’s not white blood, it is something else.”

  “Yes, of course it is, you think me a fool Alyssia.”

  “No, honestly Cyon, it is Bannber Essence, it isn’t white blood. Ellen has sent this to me. This is one of her collectors, it must have been waiting to see me. Probably scared of you and your loud clothes when you arrived.”

  “Out of the way,” said Lancaster and he hauled on Thorne’s shoulder, pulling her back and sending her toppling to the floor of the store.

  “Cyon, stop it!” cried the apothecary.

  “Give it to me, you strange thing,” demanded Lancaster, still brandishing the dagger. The creature’s eyes widened in alarm and it whisked its hand away, trying to curl up to avoid the advancing merchant.

  “I said, give it to me.”

  Lancaster grabbed at the creature’s arm and it gave a shriek, trying to pull away. It started making a chirping noise and flailed at Lancaster with its free hand.

  “Sod this,” remarked Lancaster. He swung the dagger and rammed it into the chest of the creature. It screamed and the merchant stabbed it again and then a further time, causing a dark liquid to spray from
the wounds. The creature began to gasp and its eyes rolled in its head. The bottle fell from its grasp and Lancaster snatched it up.

  “Got you,” said the merchant in triumph. His delight was a short-lived as he heard something whip through the air. A green tendril wrapped around his throat and began to tighten. Lancaster began to wheeze.

  “Drop it,” said a voice next to him. Lancaster rose to his feet and banged into the counter, still holding the small bottle. The grip tightened and his face reddened.

  “I said, drop it,” repeated Thorne. The merchant’s eyes bulged and he brought up the dagger and cut at the tendril. He made a nick in it and Thorne made an injured noise. He tried to slice at the tendril again but a second one appeared and held his wrist.

  “Last chance Cyon.”

  Lancaster dropped the bottle onto the counter where it rolled over a couple of times. The tendril from about his throat immediately relaxed and he gave a great gasp as he drew in air. The other tendril retreated from about his wrist. Thorne shoved past him and snatched up the bottle. She went to the creature but found it lay dead. Lancaster stood wheezing as he fought for breath.

  “You always take what is not yours, thinking yourself entitled to anything,” scolded the herbalist.

  “I told you, you shall have the white blood in one day. This,” she thrust the bottle up, “is not white blood you stupid man.”

  Lancaster continued to regain his composure.

  “Give it me,” he threatened in between heavy breaths, “or I will leave you like that thing.”

  “Just get out Cyon, you won’t have taken a pace before I have dealt with you.”

  “I’ve told you, I will pay you, but if not, I will take it,” he continued, eyes fixed on the bottle in Thorne’s hand.